Sexy as Hell Box Set (105 page)

I was so turned on by my words because she wanted to hear them. She whacked my arse again, slashed at my skin with her nails, and her arm moved with such force it was like she was tearing at her cunt. I wanted to see that, see how she did it, to lean to the side and hopefully catch sight of what she was doing. But my body had other ideas. I’d come soon—I was just waiting for
her
to start coming.

She
gave a slight nod in answer to my questions, and it permitted me to go ahead and talk more.

“So you’re a Mistress who likes to dish out orders for her slave to treat her disrespectfully. Yeah, I know it isn’t disrespectful if it’s what you want, what you’re happy with, but the idea, playing this kind of game, playing out this fantasy…” I
treated her to a particularly hard thrust. “You want to be a whore, don’t you, bitch?”

She managed another tiny nod.

“Even though you’d deny that’s what you are, you still want to be one. With payment, Mistress?”

She kept still.

“Ah, I see, a nasty little whore who sucks cock for free. Even”—I thrust in—“better”—I pulled out—“than I thought.”

She wailed. Really wailed.

I jammed in. “You said I could come, Mistress, because you want to come with me.” And I was so close now I was on the verge of drenching her mouth with spunk. Choking her with it. I went back to my fast pace. “But I’m waiting for you, and I think you’re waiting for me. Is that right, you filthy, sex-crazy, cock-sucking, dirty Mistress?”

Christ, I’m nearly there.

She wailed around my cock again, moved her arm so much faster. Sucked me harder. I sped up, beyond caring now about holding off. I couldn’t if I tried.

“What do you want, Mistress? I’ll do whatever you want. Do you need me to come now?”

She slapped my arse and once more scored my skin. My buttocks clenched, the butt plug gripped so hard by my internal muscles, and the constant rubbing on my prostate was driving me insane. I was so close, mashed against her face, her hand still on my arse as she pressed me closer, dug her nails harder. I fucked on, balls tightening, lifting up, my cock feeling like it was getting too big, too bulky. Too fat for her little mouth.

“I’m going to come, Mistress.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “God fucking damn it, I’m going to come.”

And come I did, right down that slim, elegant throat of hers. It wasn’t the first time I’d emptied my bollocks into
Fifi’s gullet, but it felt different now, now that we’d revealed our final layers of want and need to each other.

On and on the heated shots burst from me, filling her cheeks, shooting down the back of her mouth. She swallowed, and the press of her tongue on my
spasming cock increased my pleasure.

“Yes, yes, like that…ah…” I shouted, intensifying the grip on her hair and lodging so deep my balls butted against her chin. “Dirty fucking bitch…whore, yeah, take me, all of me…”

She was on the verge of coming, too, and I managed to register that in the midst of my own euphoria. Her body was limp; my hands in her hair and my cock in her mouth had become her anchor, holding her there, wedged against the end of the fucking bench.

As an onslaught of thumping pleasure in her pussy ravaged through her body, her muscles contracted. Her bent knees snapped up to wedge against my legs. She arched her back and somehow elongated her throat, driving me deeper.

I groaned, completely wild and uninhibited now, and rejoiced in the sound clambering, echo-like, around the room. On and on I verbalised my climax, knowing I sounded like some kind of goddamn Neanderthal but not giving a flying fuck. I was primitive. I was a beast who needed to be tamed, contained. It was who I was and I couldn’t ignore that fact, not at this stage of fucking Fifi’s mouth.

Thank God for my Mistress and her firm but loving hand. She’d bring me back in a moment, or at least I hoped she would, because I was going, going, gone. A flash of who I used to be seared through me but I did nothing about it. Nothing at all.

How could I when the whirring in my arse was extending my orgasm, as it always did? Giving me another dimension to the fuck and seemingly adding power to the final spurts of cum as they travelled up my dick.

It was bliss, pure bliss, and I had absolute control of it…

Eventually the strength of my climax eased, and only the vibrating in my arse continued. Reality intruded, and I opened my eyes to the dim light of the room.

“So perfect, Mistress,” I said on a pant.

She kind of nodded and then poked my leg with a wicked stab of her nail.

Hurriedly I withdrew. Released her hair and stepped back. I quickly resumed my sub position—head bowed, gaze at the floor, and arms at my sides.

Fuck, had I taken it too far? She’d seemed to have been enjoying it—she had, I was sure of it. I could hear her breathing, rapid and tight. The scent of our sex and satisfaction filled the air between us and circulated in my lungs.

“Turn around,” she ordered sternly.

I did as she’d asked and sensed her standing, possibly using the fucking bench to support herself.

“Tip forward, slave, hands on your knees.”

My pulse was noisy in my ears as I obeyed, and when she slid her nails down my sweat-coated back I couldn’t control a tremble that shivered through me, tensing my abdomen and making my arse clench around the plug.

She gave a witchy cackle, but it was laced with affection, or so I hoped.

“Time to give this up,” she said, trailing her finger down the cleft of my arse and flicking off the butt plug. “You can’t have it in all day, now can you, not if you want more plug fun tonight at the show.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She wanted to play with me tonight, for the punters. Already I could hardly wait.

I shut my eyes as I felt her begin to slide the plug out. I sent thoughts of tonight from my mind. I adored this bit, the same as my Mistress did; the stretching of my rim, the
gliding of the hard silicone on delicate skin, and the final seconds of being filled.

“Get dressed, quickly,” she said, moving away and no doubt dunking the plug in the bowl of cleaning fluid in the corner.

I scrabbled for my sweats and T-shirt, pulled them on with an efficiency I hoped would please her. I forced my mind to stay blank, holding nothing other than thoughts of Fifi and what she would order me to do next. What we’d just done, and the words we’d spoken beforehand, of committing, was so huge I needed to come back down before I could sift through the meaning of it all.

When clothed I stood in silence, gaze on my trainers as
Fifi moved about, dressing, tidying, and cleaning. She never asked me to do that, she always took responsibility for the room. I was glad. My brain felt fudged, my body not quite my own. Sometimes I thought my cum contained my thinking cells and it took a while for me to re-order my mind.

“Come this way,” she said eventually then opened the door.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Once we were both in the hallway she paused, tipped my chin with her index finger, and stared me in the eye.

“Look at me, slave,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress.” She was so fucking beautiful it was torturous not to look at her, and being able to again after ten minutes was a blessed relief.

“We’re going to sit and talk now, okay, and I only want honesty, and in return I will give honesty.”

“I understand.” I nodded and stared at her lips. She must have reapplied her lipstick. The black line around the outside of her mouth was once again perfect and filled with shocking red.

My cock twitched at the sight.

“This way.” She wrapped her tiny hand around mine and led me to the nearest comfort room.

I was a little surprised as we stepped in. Zara didn’t offer these rooms for staff to use. They were for paying clients when they had to release their passion, or frustration, or both, after a show. This one was decorated in burgundy flocked wallpaper, a chandelier, and ornate furniture, all giving the impression of a boudoir. In the centre was a large soft sofa the size of a double bed—and was more often than not used as a bed, for fucking, hence the wipeable leather surface.

Fifi
sat on the edge and indicated for me to kneel at her feet.

After I’d folded myself down, she reached for my head and encouraged me to settle it on her lap.

I sighed and let my cheek bunch on her thigh. The heat of her skin, the slight dig of the hem of her short skirt on my temple, and the scent of her cunt were all perfect sensations.

She began to stroke my hair. If I’d been a cat I’d have purred. Contentment settled through me, and a happiness I hadn’t known before swelled my heart and gave my stomach a delicious warm glow.

“You will be mine,” she said, her breath whispering over my ear and down my neck. “Forever.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I murmured, shutting my eyes.

“And I will be your Mistress, your keeper, your owner. You will do as I say at all times, without question.”

“That is what makes me happy,” I said. “To be your loyal and committed servant. I only want for you to be pleased with me.”

She was quiet for a moment and then, “So how long have you known about your more forceful side?”

The warmth in my stomach left me and in its place came a tightening that was as cold as ice. A memory I didn’t want flooded me. I’d buried it, had been shown how to by a master of forgetting. Zara.

“You must tell me.”

Still I said nothing. An image of Zara’s face hovered before me, scared, furious, demanding.

“I order you to tell me,” Fifi said, slapping my arse.

I jerked as the sound of flesh on material rang around the room and a sting rushed over my buttocks.

“Yes, sorry, Mistress, of course.” I paused. “I’ve known for a couple of years.”

“How did you find out about it?”

An image of Zara, again, shoving my chest, writhing and shouting at me to get a grip.

Fifi
sighed. “Okay, try this one first. Is that the first time you’ve really let go? Because you did in there. I could feel it. You were beyond stopping at one point. You were in another powerful role that had stepped over your submissive self.”

I was shocked by her statement. I’d only been doing what she’d asked of me. Fucking her mouth, the harsh language. “I’m not sure if I was, Mistress.”

“Don’t argue with me when I know what I saw and experienced.” She resumed stroking my hair. Her voice had been softer again.

“My more forceful side is dormant as a rule,” I said, “though, of course, it can come out if ordered to, which is what you just did.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, swirling her nails around the shell of my ear. “What I want to know about is that point when even if I’d poked at your leg you wouldn’t have stopped.”

“I would have?” I went to lift my head, but she
pressed it into her lap.

“
Mmm, I’m not convinced, and I’m also not convinced you’re telling me everything.” She paused and ran her fingers over my cheek, sending a tingle of pleasure across my flesh that calmed my fractious thoughts. “Zara knows, doesn’t she?”

I swallowed. Clamped my lips together and gritted my teeth.

“Doesn’t she?” Fifi snapped.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She shifted, and I was forced to raise my head.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes were narrowed and appeared full of concern. There was no hint at the anger I feared would be there, just anxiety, just a pleading to be taken into my confidence. Climb over my last barrier.

“Carlos, you’re a darling slave and I treasure you, and look forward to doing so in the future, but—”

“I must tell you.” I’d been daring, interrupting her like that, but suddenly I needed to explain. Let something out that had been buried deep.

She cupped my cheeks in her hands. “Yes, you must.”

Leaning forward, she kissed the tip of my nose, and I breathed in her sweet perfume and delicate breath.

“When I first met Zara I was a badly behaved submissive. I had a tendency to disobey, be brattish, take liberties, but she reined me in, beat that out of me, and I became the slave I am today.”

“I do believe I witnessed those beatings many times.”

A flush grew on my cheeks. Zara had taken me to the very boundaries of pleasure and pain, and the release that had given me had been therapy in itself. Having an audience had only heightened the experience.

“But it was more than the beatings, wasn’t it?” Fifi asked. “Something happened.”

I nodded, and her tiny hands moved with my head.

“Yes.”

“So tell me.”

I tugged in a deep breath and risked placing my palms on her warm thighs. We were in a different moment—still Mistress and slave, but there was more, and I hoped Fifi would guess that I needed the physical contact.

“One day,” I said, praying I wasn’t making a terrible mistake with my confession, “we were practicing a scene, Zara and I. She’d beaten me with the flogger and then the bullwhip. I was hard, hard and horny, but she’d denied me release for hours. Every time I got close she’d back off. I was high on endorphins, mad with desire and becoming more and more mentally out of control. Eventually, though, Zara released me from the shackles.”